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Moving On

10th December. Bristol.  Sky Bunker.  Tomorrow will be one month since mum died.  But I'm not going to dwell on this, be maudlin or negative.  It's going to mark a point where I move on.

I tried going back to work on Monday.  Interesting experience.  A case of the arrogance of male logic being over-ridden by the deep well fount of powerful emotions.  My boss and I had a long chat.  Back to my original plan when I first left after the phone call from my sister, return to work 4th Jan.

Time is the agent of recovery.

I've had to wait a couple days for a flight back to Newcastle.  I don't mind the wait.  It's given me a chance to spend some quality nights with Jo before I vanish on her (again).  I've also been getting back into my writing.  I'm damned if I'm going to spend this time shuffling around in a numb daze.  It's time to be positive and strong, and productive.  It was a surreal case of de javu: the very same lifestyle of early 2007... after I got back from Newcastle following my dad's funeral.  As now, back then my house had been burgled around the time of the funeral, leaving me to deal with the sense of violation in the house, dealing with the death of a parent.  Back then I was spending days and weeks and months of living up here in the Sky Bunker; this time it was just a few days, but still the same routine: committing myself to 45 minute writing sessions broken by 15 minute snoozes, repeat, repeat, repeat throughout the whole day.  Listening to H.P.LOvecraft FUNGi FROM YUGGOTH audio book/poetry... the eerie yellow sunlight flooding across the city which I can see from this high vantage point.

So the past couple days have been a concentrated blur of creativity. Dog Eat Dog is now onto Chapter 17.  I'm about 58,000 words in.  

Newcastle tonight.  My sister has gone to London...her first time leaving the house in months.  So I'll be arriving at an empty place.  And she'll be dealing with the disconnect, and then the return...herself.

Floyd, my Northern Monkey, is over from New York for family reasons and it'll be good to catch up with him and share feelings.  We're planning on heading out to Tynemouth on Friday. Walk the pier. Grab legendary fish and chips from Marshalls.  

So I'm looking forward to good times.  I'm determined to enjoy these final weeks in the house, whilst the house still looks the same as it has done during my lifetime there... whilst the house still holds the essence of mum, and before we strip it down to bare walls and forever lose the ability to go back to that place we once called home.




Newcastle. Jesus Mound. 

I've been in Newcastle for a couple of days.
I'm bordering on moments of depression but I'm determined to push through it.
I'm currently sitting in my cafe on St Georges Road... working on Dog Eat Dog.
Yesterday I met up with Floyd and we rode the Metro train to the coast. Got off at Whitley Bay rather than Tynemouth, and then walked along the coast to Tynemouth.  Awesome weather. Calm but ice cold and foggy.  Walking alongside the ocean I was gripped by the idea of throwing myself into the freezing water and swimming.  I settled with taking off my boots, rolling up my jeans and wading in up to my knees. It was so cold it burned.  I couldn't feel my toes for an hour afterwards.  It was great though.





Later...
I've just been sitting in mum's room.  It's not been touched since she died.  I sat in the spare chair feeling very emotional, gazing at the bed, at the hollow indent on the pillow.  And then my gaze tracked to her chair, where her ashes are now, in a maroon coloured urn, which my sister and I wrapped in her favourite scarf and her green cardigan.  I got really fucking angry then.  I'm not even 40 and my mum has become a box of ash.   I'm never going to be able to play cards with her again, or laugh with her or squeeze her hand when we used to walk side by side.  





Later...
Somebody tried breaking into the house today.  I came back from a long walk and found the cast-iron chimneia that sits out on the decking had been dragged to the side of the house, giving somebody a step-up onto the roof of the extension... allowing them to try all the upstairs windows.  Fuckers failed.  





Later...
Sat in my cafe.  St George Road.  Dog Eat Dog in good flow.  Outside is grey and ice cold.  Pete's cooking Sunday lunch for his family today and invited me to join them.  Yesterday he popped round with Penny and a 7ft Christmas Tree; handing it over he said, "Just because she's gone doesn't mean I won't carry on tradition.  Here you go, Dave.  This is for your last Christmas here."

Beautiful gesture and action.

Heading back to the house now. Get ready for my lunch and then an afternoon introducing Pete and family to Warrior Knights.